Last Night
by FallenAngel218
Summary: Written for the NFA "What Happened to Me?" Challenge. Tony wakes up at Gibbs house with no memory of the night before, except that Tim was with him, and is now missing. T for violence and language, and drug references.
1. Chapter 1

The first thing that registered to Tony was pain. Excruciating pain. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, but he forced them open anyway. He was more than shocked to find himself in Gibbs' living room. What had happened to him last night? How did he get here? He shivered and reached down to tug the blanket over him, and touched bare skin. He tilted his head up slowly to look at himself. He wasn't wearing anything, except for his boxer shorts.

As he pulled himself into a sitting position to look for his clothes, he heard footsteps descending the stairs. Gibbs came around the corner moment later.

"Good morning," he said gruffly to his impromptu house guest.

"Boss, what in the hell happened? And where are my clothes?"

"Do you remember anything?" Gibbs asked.

"Not a thing. Did you drag me out of a bar or something?"

"Or something."

Tony sat back and closed his eyes. What had he done?

"What happened to me?" he asked. "And where are my clothes?"

"You didn't have them on when I found you," Gibbs said.

"What?"

"All I can tell you, DiNozzo, is that I got a call at three in the morning from a bar owner in Silver Spring. He told me he found you on the floor half naked in the men's room. You were unconscious."

"That's all?"

"Yeah, Tony, that's all." Gibbs picked up a blue duffel he'd stashed under the coffee table, and tossed it to Tony. "Ziva brought this from your apartment. Get dressed."

Gibbs went into the kitchen to make some coffee. Tony opened the duffel and put on a pair of jeans and the sweatshirt Ziva had packed for him. It wasn't his first choice from the closet, but it was better than sitting on his Boss' couch in his underwear. As he pulled the hoodie over his head, Gibbs came back to the living room holding two cups of coffee. Tony took the coffee gratefully and sat back down on the couch.

"What do I do now, Boss? Something happened last night, and I have no memory. What if someone was hurt because of me?"

"Relax. We can figure it out." Gibbs took out his phone and flipped it open. He dialed McGee's number, hoping for the junior agent to pick up. He slammed the phone shut when it went to voice mail. "Damn it!"

"What's the matter?"

"McGee isn't answering his phone. I'll kill him," Gibbs grumbled.

At the mention of Tim's name, Tony sat up straight. A fuzzy memory came into his head.

"Boss, I remember something."

"What?"

"After you let us go last night, I asked McGee to come out drinking with me."

"And?"

"He came. He was there last night." Another thought occurred to Tony. "Oh my God, you don't think something happened to him-"

"God, I hope not," Gibbs said, jumping up to grab his coat. Tony was at his heels. There was no way he was sitting this out if something happened to Tim on his watch.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS**

_~ Two Hours Earlier~_

When Tim came to, he found himself on the wrong side of a handgun.

"Get him up."

Strong hands grabbed Tim by the arms and pulled him to his feet. He felt very weak. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there, or who these people were. There was a man standing in front of him, pointing a handgun at his face. The man was his height, with brown hair and eyes, and had a Spanish accent.

"What were you doing in my bar, cop?"

"What?" Tim asked, thoroughly confused. "What do you mea-" he was cut off when his captor hit him in the face. The pain brought him to his knees. Before he could regain his breath, he felt the man grab his shirt and press the gun to the side of his head.

"I ask the questions, puta, you answer. Comprende?"

Tim nodded. That earned him another bruise on his face.

"You don't nod, you answer."

"I understand."

"Good. Now, answer my question. What were you doing in my bar?"

"Having a drink," Tim replied. He felt the gun press into the side of his head.

"You're lying to me, cop. I don't like to be lied to."

"I'm not lying."

The next hit brought Tim crashing to the floor. The lackeys pulled him back to his knees.

"Give me one reason not to shoot you right now, cop," he said, pointing the gun directly at Tim's face this time. Tim wasn't sure what to say. He honestly had no idea what these guys wanted, how they found out he was a navy cop, and what the hell had happened the night before.

He was SO screwed.

**translations from Spanish:**

**puta: fuck (loosely translated: he's calling Tim a fucker)**  
**comprende: understand**

**(if there is anyone out there who speaks Spanish, you are welcome to correct my translations, if they are incorrect).**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: I will be working on chapter three tonight... this fic has been sitting incomplete over on NFA for a while. Hope you enjoy the first two chapters!**

Tim's body shook as the gun touched his forehead. He'd never been more scared in his life.

"What do you have to say for yourself, cop?"

"I don't know...I -I don't remember..."

The gun disappeared and Tim felt a hand hit his face again. He lost balance and fell to his hands and knees. The lackeys dragged him back up to his knees again.

"Listen, puta, you're going to tell me the truth, one way or another." He looked up at the men holding Tim. "Atarlo."

"Si, Carlos," one of them responded. "Se levanto!" he shouted, pulling Tim to his feet. The other one got a chair from the kitchen and brought it over. Tim was shoved roughly into the chair. The handcuffs were removed, and his wrists were bound to the arms of the chair. Tim tried to fight against the restraints, but was only rewarded with another bruise on his cheek, and possibly a broken tooth.

"What the hell do you want!" Tim shouted in anger. Carlos lost his temper at Tim's outburst. He pointed the gun at Tim's foot and fired. Tim screamed as the bullet went through the top of his foot. Carlos towered over Tim and pushed the gun into his temple.

"I want to know what you and your friend were thinking last night when you set foot in my bar. If I don't get the truth, I'll put a bullet in your head. Comprende?"

"Y-yes," Tim replied, breathing hard to compensate for the pain. "I-I understand."

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere. Now, let's chat, shall we?"

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS**

When they didn't find Tim at his apartment, Gibbs got on the phone to call Abby. He'd hoped Tim's cell phone was still on, so they could trace him. He had to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid Abby's screaming, but he managed to calm her down.

"Abbs, just get on the trace! We'll find him. Do it!" Gibbs yelled, hanging up the phone. He turned to his SFA. Tony was leaning against Tim's door frame, looking at the floor. Gibbs went over and head slapped him.

"What was that for?"

"I know what you're thinking, DiNozzo. This is not your fault."

"How is it not my fault! Tim could be out there dead somewhere, and I can't remember a damn thing about what we did at that bar last night!"

"Whatever happened to you two last night didn't happen because you had a few drinks, DiNozzo."

"You think we were drugged?" Gibbs didn't say anything. That was all the proof Tony needed. "I can't believe I let that happen," he said, running a hand through his hair. "How could I let this happen?"

"Hey! What did I just tell you?" Tony punched the wall, leaving a nice hole behind. Gibbs grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of Tim's apartment, closing and locking the door. "Come on, DiNozzo. Let's get to NCIS and figure out what the hell is going on."

Tony didn't talk the entire drive to NCIS. As soon as they got there, Gibbs dragged him down to Abby's lab. She was still running a trace on Tim' s phone, and having little success.

"I'm getting a very weak signal from Tim's phone, Gibbs," Abby said, typing furiously. "Whoever took him probably tried to break it."

"Can you get anything?" Gibbs asked, looking at the screen as she typed.

"I'm trying, Gibbs. I need a stronger GPS signal." Abby typed for what seemed like forever before she jumped out of her chair. "I think I've got something!"

"What?" Tony asked impatiently.

"I can get you within a three block radius of the signal. That's as close at it's gonna get. I'll keep trying."

Gibbs huffed and turned around to leave. By the time he turned toward the elevator, Tony was already there and pressing the button. Gibbs ran to catch up with him as the doors opened.

"Slow down," he said as the doors closed. Gibbs hit the emergency stop and turned toward his SFA.

"Listen to me. You are not going out there half-cocked like this. Get yourself together. We'll find him. Are we clear?"

"Yeah, Boss. Clear."

"Good." Gibbs pressed the stop again, and the elevator continued up to the squad room. "Ziva! What do you have on that bar?"

"It is owned by Carlos Morales," she said, bringing it up on the plasma. "He has been arrested on drug charges, but never convicted."

"Find out where he lives," Gibbs said. He immediately turned to Tony, who was already at his computer and typing furiously. He knew he couldn't make Tony relax even if he tried. He felt responsible for McGee's disappearance. He made his way over to Tony's desk. "We'll find hm."  
Tony didn't look up from his computer.

"I know we will. I just wish I could remember."

"You were drugged. Abby's tox screen came back with Rohypnol and a combination of other things in your system. I'm sure Tim was drugged too."

"That makes me feel SO much better," Tony said, slamming a fist down on his desk. "Of all the bars we could have chosen to go out for a few drinks, it had to be a bar run by a drug lord!"

"We'll find McGee. He's not allowed to die," Gibbs said.

"Gibbs, I have an address for Carlos Morales." Ziva announced, standing up with a sticky note in her hand. Tony jumped up and grabbed his gun from the drawer.

"Let's get him!"

"Whoa, hold on, DiNozzo. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm not sitting this out, Boss. I'm getting him back. It's my fault he's there."

Gibbs nodded and walked toward the elevator, Tony and Ziva at his heels.

**NCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS**

After an hour of questioning, Carlos decided that he was getting nowhere, and his captors left him alone in the room for a few minutes. Tim was glad for the relief. He needed to get out of here soon. He was losing feeling in his foot, from the blood loss. As several escape plans formulated in his head, the office door swung open, and Carlos came in.

"You ready to talk, cop?" He asked, shoving the gun into the side of Tim's head.

"I already told you, I was just having a few beers with a friend," Tim said again, as he'd been saying for the past hour. Carlos hit him again. Another bruise to add to the collection on his face.

"You must be undercover. You and your friend think you could bring me down by yourselves?"

"Wha—wait, what did you do to him?" Tim asked. If something had happened to him, he'd bet 50 bucks something happened to Tony too.

Carlos didn't answer. He only pushed the gun harder into Tim's head.

"You should be worrying about what I'm going to do to you, puta."

Tim heard a click, and the gun was shoved harder into the side of his head. This was it. He was going to die.

"NCIS! Drop the weapon!"

Tim opened his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Gibbs standing in the doorway, gun trained on Carlos.

"Que te jodan, puerco!" Carlos shouted, shoving the gun into Tim's head again. He closed his eyes and braced himself to die. Suddenly he heard a shot, and he no longer felt the gun at his head.

"Tim, you can open your eyes now," Gibbs said.

Tim slowly opened his eyes, and came face to face with Tony. He was cutting him loose from the chair.

"Tony! You're all right? What happened to you?"

"Still trying to figure that out, Probie."

Tim looked down at the floor. Carlos was writhing in pain.

"You didn't kill him?" Tim asked.

"Too much paperwork." Gibbs replied.

Tony finally got the ropes loose and Tim tried to stand, putting all his weight on his right foot. It didn't work, and Tony and Ziva caught him on his way to the floor.

"Whoa there, you're not walking anywhere."

"He shot me in the foot," Tim pointed out.

"I noticed, Probie. You'll be fine. Ziva will take you to the hospital."

"I may die getting there."

Ziva punched him lightly in the arm.

"You will be fine. Come, Tony. Help me get him to the car."

Tim let sleep take him over as his friends helped him to the sedan.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

**Spanish Translations: **

**Atarlo = tie him up (loosely translated)**  
**se levanto = stand up**  
**puta = loosely translated to 'fuck' (he's calling Tim a fucker)**  
**"Que te jodan, puerco!" - Fuck you, Pig!**  
**Comprende - understand**


	3. Chapter 3

Tim was whisked into Trauma as soon as they got to the hospital. Tony shakily sat down in the waiting area. Ziva sat beside him. She could tell that Tony was clearly wracked with guilt about this whole thing. She reached over and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

"He will be all right, Tony. You must stop blaming yourself for this."

"He's in there because I dragged him out last night, Ziva!" Tony suddenly snapped. "He wanted to stay in and work on his novel last night. I should have let him. He's in there with a bullet in his foot because I just HAD to get him out after work."

"How could you have known that you were walking into a bar with a known gangster, Tony? I wouldn't have known!"

"I should have had his six. I let my guard down." He dropped his head. All of the sudden he felt a sharp slap to the back of his head. Surprised, he lifted his head up and glared at Ziva.

"Did you just Gibbs slap me?"

"Yes. You are being a fool! This is _not _your fault, Tony! You and McGee went out for a drink, and had some bad luck. That's all. You didn't shoot him!"

"I might as well have," he said dejectedly. Ziva threw up her hands. There was no getting through to Tony. He was just as hard-headed as Gibbs when it came to guilt. The doors to Trauma opened at that moment, and a tall doctor in green scrubs stepped out.

"Timothy McGee's family?"

Tony jumped out of his chair.

"Is he all right?"

"Are you family?" the Doctor asked, folding his arms.

"I'm his partner," Tony said, shoving his ID in the Doctor's face. "You're going to tell me how he's doing!"

"Tony! You must calm down!" Ziva said, grabbing her friend's arm. She looked at the Doctor. "Could you please let us know how he is doing? He was shot in the line of duty."

"He's very lucky. We got the bullet and repaired the damage to his foot. He's very likely to have full functionality in his foot once he heals, but that won't be for a long while."

"Can we see him?" Ziva asked politely.

"Shortly. We're going to get him settled into a room. I'll come get you when he's ready."

"Thank you."

The Doctor smiled and went back into Trauma. She turned on Tony as soon as he was gone.

"You were very rude, Tony!"

"He pissed me off."

"Shoving your ID in his face will _not _get you in to see McGee!"

"I'm not sure I'm ready to see him."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Ziva!" Tony stalked off toward the elevator. It opened as he reached for the call button, and he came face to face with Ducky.

"Tony! How is Timothy faring?" Tony shoved past Ducky and got into the elevator. Ducky turned and followed. "What's going on, Tony?" Ducky asked as the doors closed.

"Nothing," Tony said, turning away from the ME. Ducky reached over and pulled the emergency stop on the elevator.

"You're behaving like Jethro, you know. What aren't you telling me?" Tony remained silent. It didn't take Ducky long to figure it out. "You feel guilty about all of this, don't you Anthony?"

Tony nodded silently.

"Anthony, I want you to turn around and look at me. I've something to tell you, and I won't say it to the back of your head."

Tony slowly turned to face Ducky. The ME reached out and pushed Tony's chin up, so he could see his eyes.

"The only thing you are guilty of, young man, is wanting a night out after work with a good friend. What happened to you both in that bar is no one's fault but the criminal Jethro is interrogating back at the Navy Yard.

"But Ducky—"

"None of that, Anthony. You must understand that it isn't your fault. Timothy will be fine, and that animal will be in jail, if Jethro doesn't kill him first."

Tony smiled. He could imagine Gibbs in interrogation at that very moment. Then he thought of Tim, limping around the squad room because of Tony's stupidity.

"I don't know if he'll even want to see me, Duck," Tony said, looking away again.

"Timothy does not hold grudges, Tony. Go and talk to him. It's the only way you are going to feel better."

Tony sighed. He knew Ducky was right, but at the same time he was still afraid Tim would hate him. He turned around and switched the emergency stop back to its normal place. He pressed the button for the floor they'd just come from.

"A wise choice, Anthony."

"I hope so."

_**NCISNCISNCISNCIS**_

__Tim was asleep when Tony finally got the courage to go to his room. Ducky and Ziva had been in to see him already, and had gone home. Tony pulled up a chair and sat at Tim's bedside. After a few minutes of silence, Tony lost his nerve and got up to leave.

"Tony? Where are you going?"

Tony stopped halfway to the door. _Leave it to Probie to have such great timing, _he thought. He turned around and sat down again.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'll be fine, Tony. I was only shot in the foot."

"Because of me," Tony mumbled. Tim furrowed his brow.

"Did you say something?"

"It's my fault you're here. You wanted to work on your book, and I forced you to go out drinking. I practically dragged you into that bar. I'm sorry, Tim."

Tim didn't say anything right away, which made Tony feel worse. He looked up at his friend, and was shocked to see him smiling.

"What?"

"You don't remember what happened that night, do you?"

Tony chuckled.

"Not a thing."

"I remember everything," He said with a smile, and began the story.

_~Friday night, 2300 hours~_

_"Come on, Probie! This bar is as good as any!" Tony said as he parked in front of a small bar not far from the office. _

_ "I don't know about this place, Tony," Tim said, looking out the windshield at the place. There were a few bikers hanging out outside, smoking. _

_ "Are you afraid of bikers? Come on, you'll be fine." Tony got out of the car, and Tim followed. The bikers stared them down as they entered the bar. While Tony walked right up to the bar, Tim was detained at the door, for an ID check. He showed his license and was reluctantly let into the establishment. He joined Tony and accepted the beer his friend had ordered for him. As he slid onto the stool, Tim noticed several pairs of eyes resting on him and Tony. He nonchalantly leaned over to Tony and whispered in his ear._

_ "We need to leave, now."_

_ Tony seemed to get the message, and moved his eyes around. He, too, noticed that they were being watched. _

_ "Finish your beer," he whispered. "We need to make it look like we stopped in for a quick beer." As he finished his sentence, Tony felt a rough tap on his shoulder. He turned to face a man about McGee's height, of Hispanic descent. _

_ "Who are you?" he asked._

_ "The tooth fairy," Tony answered in a smart-alecky tone. "What do you care who I am? I'm just trying to enjoy my beer." _

_ "Leave." _

_ "Why?" Tim asked. "We're just having a drink." _

_ "You don't belong here. Get out!" The man reached over and grabbed Tim by the shirt, yanking him off the barstool. Tony got up immediately and went for the gun in his jacket, pointing it at the man holding McGee._

_ "Let him go." _

_ "Go ahead and shoot me. You won't leave here alive." Tim struggled in the man's grasp, but to no avail. Tony kept his gun trained on Tim's attacker. _

_ "I'm sure I'll be walking out of here alive and well after I put a bullet in your head," Tony said. His focus was trained on the thug, rather than Tim. Before either of them knew what was going on, someone came up behind Tony and hit him over the head with a baseball bat. Tony crumpled to the floor, unconscious. _

_ "Tony!" Tim shouted, thrashing in the thug's grip to get to his friend. The man who knocked Tony out searched his pockets. He had also noticed that the place had cleared out seconds after Tony was hit. Tim was dismayed when Tony's NCIS ID was removed from his coat. He stood and nodded to the bartender. Tim watched as he came out from behind the bar, holding a syringe._

_ "What are you doing?" Tim shouted, still thrashing in the grip of his captor. The bartender injected Tony with some kind of drug. Two more men appeared and dragged Tony's unconscious body down the back hallway, and out of Tim's sight. The man with the bat turned and moved in on Tim. _

_ "You're next, puta." He stepped back and took a hard swing with the baseball bat, impacting with Tim's head. Tim fell limp in the arms of his captor._

__**~Present Day~**

Tony could only blink in surprise as Tim wrapped up his story.

"Let me get this straight," Tony finally said. "I pulled my gun on a guy twice my size to help you, and I got clocked on the head with a baseball bat?"

"And drugged," Tim reminded him.

"Oh yeah, right," Tony said, rolling his eyes. It explained his memory lapse.

"None of it was your fault, Tony. We were just having a beer. That other guy started the trouble."

"I still feel like an ass for dragging you out when you didn't want to go, and for that," he said, pointing to Tim's foot.

"I'm definitely upset that I got shot, but you didn't shoot me. Carlos did. The only reason we were in that bar was to have a drink, and he didn't want to accept that answer."

Tony smiled. He was feeling much better than he did when he'd come into the room to sit with Tim. He was glad Tim didn't blame him for it all.

"Hey Probie, when you get out of here, you're welcome to recuperate at my place. We can have a beer in the safety of my living room, without the rohypnol-toting drug lords."

"That sounds really good, Tony. I accept your offer."

Tony grinned evilly.

"You _have _to tell me which movies you want to watch, Probie! I just bought a really good one…"

Tim smiled as Tony babbled on about his new movie purchase. He knew Tony would eventually get on his nerves, but he was glad to have a friend who had his six when he needed him most.

_**FINIS! **_


End file.
